


Never ever be

by ardvari



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardvari/pseuds/ardvari
Summary: He wakes up to snow falling outside and automatically reaches over to the other side of the bed. It’s empty and cold, which isn’t surprising because if she were still in it, she’d most likely be curled against him. She always gets up earlier than him, even up here, where she’s supposed to relax.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere between season nine and ten, though that's not really relevant, that's just where my mind thinks it kinda fits. Cabin!fic. Unadulterated geek!smut with some plot thrown in for good measure. At least I tried before things went... down (or up?), the way such things usually tend to go. ;) No periodic tables were harmed (much) in the writing of this fic.

**Never ever be**

_There’ll never be anyone else but you for me  
Never ever be, just couldn’t be anyone else but you_  
~ Emmylou Harris

He wakes up to snow falling outside and automatically reaches over to the other side of the bed. It’s empty and cold, which isn’t surprising because if she were still in it, she’d most likely be curled against him. She always gets up earlier than him, even up here, where she’s supposed to relax. 

“You’re supposed to be on _vacation_ ,” he’d told her a few days ago. 

Carter doesn’t do vacations well. Carter never used to do vacations period. She’s improved since… them. Since the first time she finally agreed to come up to the cabin with him. 

The air smells like wood smoke and he can hear the fire crackling in the living room. After years in the field she’s an expert at building a fire, likes doing it, does it perfectly. She has the ability to make fires with wet wood in a downpour. 

“It’s just chemistry,” she’d explained to him once. 

He smirks, thinking back to the one time she’d recited the periodic table of the elements to him during sex. He’d liked the way her voice had hitched on words like technetium (transition metal), and ununbium (poor metal), and tellurium. 

“That’s a non-metal,” she’d whispered. 

The only reason why he can still remember any of this (not including the physical part, obviously) is because of the look she’d had on her face, and that delectable, unexpected thing she’d done with her hands and later, when she’d finished with the periodic table, with her tongue. 

He’s fairly sure that if he’d known just how amazing sex with Carter was eight years ago, he would have gone insane. Bad things might have happened on that very solid briefing room table. Bad, entirely _wonderful_ things. 

He brushes his teeth at the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection in the spotty mirror. After a year of this, of _them_ , he still doesn’t have a clue about what she actually sees in him. He’s old, and grumpy, and he’s got enough scars that he could evenly distribute them among the world’s population and still have some left. 

“Why do you even _like_ me?” he’d asked her once. 

She’d sauntered up to him, pulled his lips down to hers, and kissed him.

“Because I do,” she’d answered. 

It’s really as simple as that. This is Carter, after all. If this wasn’t what she wanted, she wouldn’t still be around. If them being on opposite sides of the country, on the opposite sides of the galaxy even, counted as being “around”. 

He walks out of the bathroom, bare feet slapping the wooden floor as he goes in search for her. Sometimes he finds her outside on the deck or by the pond, standing very still, staring at nothing in particular. Sometimes she’s in the kitchen, sipping coffee while flipping through the paper they get up here. 

“Someone totalled his car in an accident involving a raccoon,” she’d told him once, dryly. 

She finds these rather insignificant Earth news funny in regard to the big picture. Her big picture, the one in which they’re fighting a war against the Ori that feels a bit like a reverse crusade. 

Today she’s in the living room though, sitting on the couch with one of those huge textbooks she carts around on her lap. He swallows hard. She’s wearing the top to his pyjama bottoms, worn flannel, three buttons done up, nothing underneath but skin. Her hair’s kinda messy, she’s wearing a delightful pair of reading glasses, and she’s chewing on a pen. He drags his eyes away from the pen, down the collar of the shirt where it dips between her breasts, and along her long, long legs. 

“Jack?”

He lets his eyes travel back to her face slowly. She’s tapping the pen against her bottom lip, looking at him questioningly. The thing is that she’s still in a scientific haze, hasn’t yet grasped what exactly she’s doing to him. It’s the moment she does that he likes best, the moment realization dawns on her and makes her smile seductively. 

Christ almighty. 

He’d die for that smile. Probably _has_ died for that smile in several other realities. 

“Sam?” he asks back, walking over and poking her legs until she slides them apart.

He nudges her a little more and then huffs as he sits down on the coffee table with her legs on either side of him. He runs a hand up her leg, from her calf to her knee and back again. Innocently. 

“’bout time you got out of bed,” she teases, rubbing her foot along the side of his ass. 

She slips a piece of paper into the book and closes it, drops it down beside her on the couch. No doubt she’s been taking notes on this piece of paper. Probably to discredit the poor person that wrote the book, pointing out all the things that aren’t accurate. Not that she’d ever publish her opinion, she can’t, because her knowledge involves actually having travelled through a wormhole, involves having _seen_ the multiverse in action. Multiple times.

He leans forward and kisses the inside of her knee. There’s stubble on his chin, he hasn’t bothered to shave yet, and the scratch of it makes her suck in a breath. 

“Miss me?” he asks, dragging his cheek along her skin lightly. 

“Hm,” she says. 

She nods a little, pulls the glasses off and deposits them on top of her book rather unceremoniously. 

“Wanna tell me something scientific?” he asks, a wicked little smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

He leans closer, his shoulders pushing her knees apart before he kisses his way up her thighs. Slowly. Very, very slowly. 

“Like what?”

Her voice is already breathy, a little strained perhaps. 

“I don’t know. Atomic weights?” he suggests, latching on to the first thing his mind suggests. 

He’s been around her for way too long.

“Gimme an element,” she says. 

He unbuttons her shirt, his shirt, and pushes it away from her. It slides down her arms a little and then settles against her elbows, still covering one shoulder. 

“Titanium.”

Jup, definitely has been around her for way too long. He slides a calloused hand up her thigh, traces the line between her leg and her hip almost wistfully. 

“47.867,” she replies. 

They’re really getting much more out of the periodic table than most people, he thinks absent-mindedly. He leans closer, licks along her hip and then blows cold air on her skin. She shivers, her skin pebbling delightfully. 

“Boron,” he says. 

He kisses his way up her body, feeling her shift a little beneath him. Grinning to himself, he glances up at her and then sucks a taut nipple into his mouth. 

“Geez,” she says. “10.811.”

“Mercury,” he mumbles against her skin, kissing his way over to her other nipple. 

She runs a hand through his hair, sighs softly. 

“200.59,” she states firmly. 

He really wonders how long she’ll be able to keep this up. If the initial periodic table experiment was anything to go by, she’d probably scream out the atomic weight of… something instead of his name when she came. 

He smirks against her skin, licks along her collarbone and then, finally, kisses her lips. She pulls him a little closer, which ends up with him being perched somewhat awkwardly above her. 

“Carter,” he grumbles against her lips. 

“Huh?”

“Old man here,” he reminds her. 

She’s entirely uncharitable at times, especially at times like these, when she’s horny, and so she flings a couple of pillows off the couch and pushes them around with her feet until they’re fluffed up and right in front of him on the floor. 

“For your knees,” she suggests helpfully, blinking at him a couple of times. 

“Sodium,” he grouses, nips her bottom lip and then sinks down on the pillows. 

His left knee creaks a little and he leans forward, circles her belly button with his tongue. 

“22.98976928,” she sighs, spreading her legs a little wider. 

He can already smell her arousal, kisses each of her thighs for good measure and then licks along her seam. She hisses again, slides down a little further on the couch. 

He lets his tongue explore a little, long strokes, circling her clit, dipping into her. 

“Jesus Jack,” she breathes. 

“Copper,” he answers, sliding a finger into her. 

Her eyes slam shut, her head hitting the back of the couch. He could watch her like this all day, likes the feel of her fingers tugging on his hair. 

“63.546.”

She bites her lip and he slides his finger in and out slowly, watches her, the way her hips start moving a little, tilting up to meet his finger. He adds another finger and sucks on her clit gently. 

She’s deliciously wet, her body moving with him, her whole world, it seems, centered on what he’s doing to her. 

“Helium,” he whispers against her skin, so sensitive now that even his breath is making her jerk a little. 

“4.002602,” she manages to say. 

Her eyes are dark and hazy, the kind of blue that reminds him of the sky at dusk, the barest hint of deep blue lingering for long moments before it turns pitch black. He pushes three fingers into her, makes her moan out loud and arch her back. 

He likes feeling her trembling along his fingers, sets a steady rhythm that will slowly, very slowly drive her crazy. 

“Bromine.”

He doesn’t get an answer right away, just feels her fingernails scraping lightly along his skull. She’s teetering on the edge but he won’t let her fall quite yet, slows down a little.

“79.904, _please_ ,” she mewls. 

He pushes into her, shifts closer, moves faster, his other hand finding her nipples again, twisting one of them between thumb and index finger. She shatters into a million pieces in front of his eyes, crying out, her body taut and then, finally, completely slack. 

She opens her eyes, smirks at him lazily. He gently, slowly pulls his fingers out, watching her gasp. 

“Come here, you,” she orders.

Her fingers find the edge of his pyjama bottoms, pushing them off, helping him get up so he can kick them under the end table. He’s already hard; it’s what getting her off does to him. Holding on to his hand, she guides him down onto the couch and somehow, he’s not sure how, ends up straddling him. She’s got this thing for being on top and who is he to deny her the fun of killing him slowly, over and over again?

She grabs him, strokes him a couple of times and then settles on top of him, sliding down on him. There’s a wicked little smile on her face. 

“Element?” she says, not moving. 

He grips her hips, stares at her. Apparently two can play this game. He’s not sure what happened to his concentration, has to blink a few times until his synapses fire again. 

“Silver,” he says finally.

She starts to rock back and forth, her face almost thoughtful.

“107.8682.”

He’s fairly sure there isn’t going to be an element she’s not going to know the atomic weight of. This is Sam Carter, after all. Sam Carter knows _everything_. Sam Carter once blew up a sun. Sam Carter made his world explode over and over again a few nights ago. She’s probably going to do it again. 

“Cobalt,” he manages to say. 

He likes the word cobalt. He finds it sounds pretty, the way it kind of rolls and…

“58.933195,” she says. “Phew, long number.”

She probably only added that for his benefit, shrugging her shoulders and grinning wickedly before she starts sliding up and down on him excruciatingly slowly. He’s fairly certain that she knows more than a dozen ways to kill him and make it look like an accident. One of them might just be riding him into oblivion very, very slowly. 

“God, Carter,” he grunts. 

She stops moving, just rocks back and forth again, moaning softly. 

“That’s not an element,” she sighs, raking her nails down his chest. 

He can feel that sensation all the way to his toes, burning itself along his neural pathways and making him see stars. 

“Arsenic,” he grinds out viciously, jerking his hips up. 

That catches her by surprise and she moans again, her muscles tightening around him. She starts moving again, biting her lip, speeding up a little. 

“74.92160.”

He’s close now and she knows it, lets his hands on her hips guide her a little until it’s his rhythm, his speed they’re going. 

“One more,” she whispers, her hands on either side of his face, her mouth close enough that her lips brush his cheek. 

“Tantalum,” he says, and then comes, pulling her lips down to his and kissing her long and hard. 

“180.94788,” she says after, leaning in to kiss him again. 

She slides off of him, tucks herself between him and the back of the couch, her body still half-covering his. From somewhere on the end of the couch, she wrestles a blanket around them both and then rests her head on his shoulder, sighing contently. 

“You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

“You’ll die a happy man.”

He chuckles at that, squeezes her waist, his thumb stroking along the soft skin there. 

“A happy man who knows the periodic table of the elements by heart,” he concludes, kissing her forehead. 

She snorts at that, giggles a little. 

“Little more practice…” she muses, kissing his shoulder.

“I like practice. I’m a fan of practice,” he says lazily, wrapping his arms around her more firmly. 

Giggling again. She really _will_ kill him one of these days.


End file.
